Monday, July 11, 2011
One sheet of rice paper. The postmark is too smudged to read; there is no return address. I scrutinize the blank page; words appear just to fade, and change into something else. At the cusp between meaning and nonsense, an apophenia induced alphabet leads me deep. All day, the sun reveals a parade of fresh permutations. By nighttime, I know even less. If ink words were less ambiguous than these, I would consider my time wasted.